light was not growing every instant and the precious moments wasting away. Plainly, work did not go very well this morning! And as Miles watched he wondered why he had ever entertained the idea of tearing himself away from—Hunter!
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Presently, with a start, Prudence
turned again to the canvas, picked
the brush from the ledge of the easel,
and set to work. But there was none
of the enthusiasm she had shown when
the picture was started. The brush
moved slower and slower until once
more she was idle, her gaze on the blue
rim of the distant hills seen at the end
of the glade. Suddenly Miles turned
his observation from the Princess to
Bistre. The latter was half-way down
the slope, trotting toward Prudence
with his stump of a tail wagging excitedly.
